Ups and Downs
by girl in the glen
Summary: Just a simple visit to the secretarial pool leaves Napoleon all mixed up.


The room was full of the clacking of keyboards as twenty women went about the business of typing reports, documenting files and more or less keeping the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement running smoothly. The agents had their parts to play, the secretaries the task of making it all part of the organization's official record.

White against the grey of walls and machines, paper rolled from inside the IBM Selectric as fingers moved with precision across the keyboards, causing the room to sound like tiny bits of hail pelting a tin roof.

Illya Kuryakin and Napoleon Solo walked into this room with intention, their eyes scanning the assortment of beehives and flips as they looked for the one woman whose help they needed.

"There she is, over there…" Illya pointed towards a blonde, her attention riveted to the documents beside the sleek typewriter.

Napoleon nodded and then walked to the woman his partner had indicated. She was thumbing through a phone index, probably trying to reach the agent whose report she was working on. Intent on her task, the woman was aware of Napoleon only after he tapped her on the shoulder.

Betsy Cummings wasn't a jumpy person by nature, but the feel of someone's hand on her shoulder startled her, eliciting something short of cursing as she hit a wrong key that would necessitate using the white out product in her drawer.

"I'm sorry Miss Cummings, I didn't mean to startle you."

Betsy looked up into the face of Mr. Solo, a man she had only heard about and seen periodically. The fact that he was in the report she worked on now was unnerving.

_What could he possibly want from her?_ The question was immediate and a little bit frightening.

"Mr. Solo? Umm…what can I do for you, sir?" Was her heart beating a little faster? Suddenly a dull roar filled her head, and for the life of her Betsy couldn't understand why.

"Are you all right Betsy, you look…"

Too late. Betsy Cummings passed out cold, falling gracelessly from her chair as Napoleon tried without success to catch her before she hit the floor.

"I see you've managed to get another woman to fall at your feet." The droll delivery was met with a smirk. Illya could be so irritating at times.

"I didn't even get to introduce myself."

One of the other woman had already called Medical and several others were attending to their co-worker. Illya had knelt down to check her pulse while Napoleon answered accusatory looks with the most charming smile he could muster, under the circumstances.

Finally one of the women spoke up.

"What did you do to her Mr. Solo? Betsy is such a nice girl, you really shouldn't have upset her like that." A silent chorus of nodding heads mixed with clucking tongues (or was that merely in his imagination?), were all in agreement with their spokeswoman.

"I didn't do anything ladies, I didn't even get to say anything…( sigh …). Does she have any medical conditions?" This time the heads were shaking to indicate 'no', but the looks were still less warm than Napoleon was accustomed to seeing on the females in UNCLE.

Illya was speaking with the med tech who had shown up with a gurney, and then with Miss Cummings as she began to come around. He patted her hand and said something to which she smiled and, if Napoleon was seeing clearly, the woman blushed.

The Russian agent came back to where Napoleon was fending off several cold shoulders and announced that Betsy was going to be fine. She just had a little anxiety when she saw Napoleon and then …

"So I made her faint? I didn't do anything, why should she faint just because I tapped her on the shoulder?" Napoleon was annoyed now, the idea of women dropping in a cold heap to the floor just because he walked into a room. What was that all about anyway?

"Betsy, Miss Cummings… was typing a file that chronicled your last mission alongside Agent Dave Devine; you remember that one, after I was laid up in Medical due to some THRUSH toxins. Anyway, she was at the part where you applied a pressure point assault on some poor fellow's collarbone and, well …"

Napoleon was floored.

"She thought I'd do that to her? Surely you're kidding."

Illya smiled, that small smile that said so much and betrayed so little.

"Not really, you just surprised and then it was all… she couldn't help herself.' Kuryakin was still smiling, almost laughing.

"I suppose you just have a way with women, Napoleon."

"Just tell me she's going to be all right. Oh, wait… you did that already. Fine, I'll send her flowers and take her out to dinner." That made Illya's eyebrows raise in a quizzical expression that elicited more questions from his partner.

"What? Is she afraid to go out with me?"

''No, it's just that, well… You may have to wait."

Suspicions were mounting.

"And why is that, O Partner Mine? I think I smell a rat, a Russian rat."

"Sorry my friend, but Betsy is having dinner with me tonight. I seem to have a calming effect on her that, well… you know."

Illya turned and walked back out into the corridor, anxious to make a dinner reservation for the evening ahead. Betsy Cummings was a very pretty girl, and he was confident the evening would be very pleasant indeed.

As for Napoleon, it seemed at least one of the secretaries had been watching very carefully and, when Mr. Kuryakin left she made her way over to where Napoleon still stood.

"Um, Mr. Solo?" He turned to see a beautiful brunette with curves that would shame the Autobahn.

"Oh, yes…_ may I help you ?_"

I guess you can pretty well imagine how the rest of this story goes.


End file.
